Never Too Late
by Sock Fiend
Summary: When an unexpected and disturbing tragedy hits the hospital, the ones affected are left emotionally devastated. It doesn't help that the person responsible is still out there. Rating will go up.
1. Introduction

This is my first multi-chapter story. Just a warning: it's going to get dark. A lot darker than the other stuff I've written so far. The rating is definitely going to go up in the future too. And by the way, did anyone notice how I always name my fics after songs? That's because I always have main song that I listen to whenever I write something. I got the name for this one from Three Days Grace and it's a very addicting song. You should listen to it. You should also review because it would make me super happy. Shout out to musicandscrubs, Mew-Erenaa, poodlehair92, HazelInDespair, Bells of Tomorrow, and iluvdimples314 for commenting on my last story. You all are seriously awesome and make my life. Well, here it goes.

* * *

It never got any easier.

That's what Greg Dawson had learned after thirteen years of dedicated service to the Los Angeles police division. He was a detective, and a good one. But sometimes even he couldn't handle the pressures that came with his profession.

He drained the rest of his coffee in three monstrous gulps as he finished skimming the police report laid out on the desk in front of him.

The roof of his mouth burned.

Dawson ignored the discomfort and combed a hand through his short hair, exhaling silently through his nose. Every once in a while, a case would come along that made him question everything. How could people do things like this to each other?

Spread out beside the report was a collection of photographs taken at the scene. Now, he wasn't normally squeamish; a strong stomach was one of the requirements for his job. But just even glancing at those Polaroid's made his insides lurch sickeningly.

There was blood…blood everywhere. The poor guy hadn't had a chance in hell.

_Jesus Christ..._

He deflected his gaze away from the photos and swiveled around in his chair to look out the window. It was well past midnight but the lights from the buildings and traffic still gave the city an eerie illumination. Somewhere, he was out there- the person who did this…a monster…a psychopath…

The murderer of John Dorian.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter. Sorry that updates are taking a long time- I've been unbelievably busy with the whole college thing (argh). I love ChaoticPython, Graffiti2DMyHeart, Mew-Erenaa, Ruthybabe, Smudgie, Joker88, friend9810, and Phoenix4life. -Hugs-.

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Drawing her knees up to her chest, Elliot began to sob. It had taken her foggy mind a moment to remember why she wasn't at work this morning.

She never knew that she was capable of crying so hard. Even after growing up with a mother constantly picking at her, until it seemed as though there was nothing left, always convinced that she wasn't pretty or thin enough. Having the fleeting thought of how the world might somehow be better if she didn't exist passing through her head. Somehow, this was so much worse. Elliot was convinced she was dying. She felt her weakened lungs constricting and deflating, her throat closing up. She was suffocating…and she didn't care. The doctor brought up her pajama covered knees closer to her shaking body, her tear stained face buried into the soft material.

Through the small space between her legs, her blurry eyes recognized the cordless telephone resting haphazardly on the coffee table. Had Turk and Carla found out yet? They must have. And even if they hadn't, she didn't want to be the person to tell them. The intensity of her sobs mounted as she imagined their reactions: Turk staring blankly at the wall, Carla weeping into her hands. Doctor Cox…what would he do?

A stray piece of blonde hair fell out of place and stuck to the side of her wet cheek. After years of giving bad news to patients' families, she finally realized at how they had felt. The unthinkable emptiness settling in the pit of your stomach, the agonizing pain and the emotional numbness mixing in your chest, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. Her heart had sped up dangerously when she saw the flashing red and blue lights in front of the back entrance to the hospital.

_Police are pushing her away, deaf to her pleas. She is straining her neck beyond its limitations to catch a glimpse of what has happened. The rest of the hospital staff is crowding around in fearful curiosity, whispering back and forth to each other. They are merely background noise to her. Through the hurried movement of uniformed men, she sees something being rolled out of the automatic sliding doors. The frenzied background noise stops immediately, the only sound is a cry of shock and disbelief that she vaguely recognizes as her own._

_It is a stretcher, and the body's face is clearly visible before one of the policemen quickly covers it back up with a white sheet. _

_The muscles in her legs lose all of their strength before collapsing entirely beneath her. She doesn't even feel the skin on her palms scrape on the asphalt, or someone grabbing her arms to help her up. All she can focus on is the image of JD's lifeless face, his light blue eyes, so similar to hers, that were once filled with undeterminable amounts of hope and affection, now vacantly staring upwards at nothing. _

That was all Elliot could see when she closed her eyes.

She didn't make any movement besides a tiny start when the phone's ring pierced the quiet stillness of her apartment. It continued its obnoxious call while Elliot kept her gaze fixated on the pattern on her pajamas. They were her old, worn out pair that she had had for years. Faded blue and purple bunnies danced around on the fabric, mercifully oblivious to the tragedy that had only just occurred days ago.

The answering machine beeped and a message followed the shrill noise. It was a man's voice, unfamiliar, hardened, and practical. When he spoke, his words were crisp and short. _"Doctor Reid, this is Detective Dawson with the L.A. PD. My call is concerning the passing of John Dorian…"_

Elliot subconsciously curled up tighter on the sofa.

"…_with who I understand you knew personally. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I would appreciate if you came down to the precinct for a few hours when you are available. You may have some information that would prove useful in our investigation. Thank you for your cooperation."_

The message ended with an abrupt click and Elliot was left alone again. She didn't want to talk to anyone. All she wanted was JD back.

She hugged herself helplessly as she tried to picture him in her mind; his goofy smile, his laugh.

Maybe if she did it well enough, he wouldn't really be gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: New chapter up, FINALLY! I know it isn't exactly cheery but Happy Holidays anyway! :D Haha I accidently posted this before it was ready and had to take it down, sorry XP

Keybladeboy, JDElliotForever, HazelInDespair, razmataz13drums, runs with fire, and My-Alphabet-Soup are all sexier than you.

* * *

Grief is one thing Bob Kelso has had to deal with for years.

But not since the unexpected death of Nurse Roberts had there been so much of it wallowed up inside the hospital at one time.

As chief of medicine, he had an image he was obligated to keep; an image of perseverance and resolution in times of hardship. It was his duty to lead everyone else through this. He couldn't falter. For the wellbeing of the hospital…he would _not_ falter.

It felt impossible.

The emotional state of Sacred Heart was in shambles. Employees and patients alike were constantly on the edge of a mental breakdown, a good portion of the former not even coming in for work…especially for the night shifts.

Bob leaned his elbows on his desk's smooth, mahogany surface, his lined face buried into his worn hands. Could he honestly blame them? The panicked and fearful atmosphere was not quelled by police and detectives inspecting the halls, ruthlessly interrogating already hysteric people. Everyone seemed to be affected by Dorian's death.

Even him. Just today, he'd found himself avoiding one hall in particular, the third one.

The body had been found in the doctor's lounge.

His skin crawled at the use of the word, '_body_'. It was filled with such emotional detachment, devoid of any feeling or sympathy.

"Sir…"

Any other day, Bob would have been annoyed at a sudden interruption of his thoughts, but considering the subject he was thinking about, he welcomed the intrusion.

He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "What is it, Ted?"

Like the majority of the other hospital workers, the lawyer looked terrible. All that was left of his hair was disarrayed and un-kept. Dark circles were clearly visable under his eyes from lack of sleep and talking to the detectives.

Ted slid a thin, beige colored folder towards him. "It's Nurse Martinez's resignation form."

Bob nodded. It wasn't the first person who had decided to leave due to the events in the past few days. "You aren't going to quit too, are you, Ted?"

The corner of Ted's mouth twitched slightly; a failed attempt at a smile perhaps?

"You know I'd never be able to go through with it, sir," he said. His voice came off oddly flat, even for him.

"I know," Kelso agreed for the sake of keeping up with appearences.

After the other man had left, Bob was alone in his office again. He looked at his watch before sighing wearily.

---

_11:47 p.m._

---

The Janitor took a few quick glances over each shoulder before continuing down one of the only abandoned hallways left in Sacred Heart. Since two days ago, people have been instinctively staying in groups; safety in numbers after all. The late time didn't help either. Sacred Heart was the hospital that dreaded sundown.

The custodian gripped the handle of his mop tightly, bracing it in front of him, almost like it was a weapon. He struggled to keep his heartbeat normal as he closed the distance between himself and the bright, yellow police tape that was sectioning off the area in front of what used to be the doctor's break-room.

He didn't know _why_ he wanted to see it…some morbid curiosity maybe? The need to see where the kid had spent his final minutes of life?

Deep down, the Janitor knew that neither of those were the reason.

He clenched his hold on the mop even tighter, making the rough, wooden handle scrape his calloused palm. He knew the real reason he came here tonight.

At last the Janitor reached the tape. Up close, the color seemed sickly, almost abrasive. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand uncomfortably on end. Did he just hear something? He looked around wildly, scanning down each end of the corridor with his eyes and saw nothing.

No cops, no doctors, no one.

Taking a steadying breath, he stepped cautiously over the tape and gaped at the room with horror.

_Scooter died here_…

Blinking his eyes furiously, he tore his gaze away from the sight and walked back into the hallway. His stomach churned nauseously and he slumped against the wall, mop still held relentlessly in one hand. _Janitors don't cry_. Wiping his face hastily with one sleeve, he turned to leave before stopping in his tracks, heart climbing into his throat.

A lone figure stood silently at the end of the hallway.

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A/N: Yep, cliffhanger! Please review and tell me how you like it! (By the way, I'm trying to get all the 'boring' characters' reactions done first to make room for all the Perry angst; no worries) :P And have a Happy Chrismahanukwanzakah! :)


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